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‘What is your little one’s name?’
‘Cosette.’
For Cosette, read Euphrasie. The child’s name was Eu-
phrasie. But out of Euphrasie the mother had made Cosette
by t hat sweet and gracef u l instinct of mot hers and of t he pop-
ulace which changes Josepha into Pepita, and Francoise into
Sillette. It is a sort of derivative which disarranges and dis-
concerts the whole science of etymologists. We have known
a grandmother who succeeded in turning Theodore into
Gnon.
‘How old is she?’
‘She is going on three.’
‘That is the age of my eldest.’
In the meantime, the three little girls were grouped in an
attitude of profound anxiety and blissfulness; an event had
happened; a big worm had emerged from the ground, and
they were afraid; and they were in ecstasies over it.
Their radiant brows touched each other; one would have
said that there were three heads in one aureole.
‘How easily children get acquainted at once!’ exclaimed
Mother Thenardier; ‘one would swear that they were three
sisters!’
This remark was probably the spark which the other
mother had been waiting for. She seized the Thenardier’s
hand, looked at her fixedly, and said:—
‘Will you keep my child for me?’
The Thenardier made one of those movements of surprise
which signify neither assent nor refusal.
Cosette’s mother continued:—